


A Storybook Story

by angelsandbrowncoats



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, More tags to be added, Pirates, The Princess Bride!au, possible rating change depending on how graphic things get later, pseudo medieval setting, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-28 16:58:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11422251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsandbrowncoats/pseuds/angelsandbrowncoats
Summary: Bruce is sick and confined to his bed. Alfred reads him the story of Oswald Cobblepot, a commoner turned prince who gets caught up in the vicious political intrigue of a war-mongering princess, and his True Love, Edward Nygma, who is set upon by pirates while out seeking a fortune with which to court him.Plot and some dialogue lifted from The Princess Bride, mostly the movie but also the book





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is a Princess Bride AU. Deal with it.

Bruce coughed miserably into his pillow, trying to shift himself into a more comfortable position without upsetting his stomach. His computer beeped at him and he gave a half smile. At least electronics couldn't catch his cold.

He looked up at a knock on the door to see Alfred standing in the doorway, waiting for an invitation. He put a little extra effort into his smile.

"Come in, Alfred. How is business?" his attempt at a 'mature' voice too often fell short of the mark and this was no exception, being both rough and nasally from his sore throat and stuffy nose, respectively.

"Not anything for you to be concerned about until you've fully recovered," Alfred informed him, walking over to the bed.

"Oh. Then did I forget something? A meeting I needed to cancel?"

"No, Master Bruce. I brought you some soup and sandwiches," he indicated the tray in his hands. Bruce realized he must be having a headache if he had failed to notice it before. Alfred continued, setting the tray down by his bed - easily within Bruce's reach - and pulled a small book out of his coat pocket, "And I'm going to read to you."

"Really, Alfred? I'm not a child! I don't need to be read bedtime stories anymore."

"I won't waste breath debating you, but I fully intend to read you this book. It was one of your father's favorites, you know. His father used to read it to him when he was sick. Your impeccable health, save for a select few occasions when you were so ill as to be delirious, prevented him from being able to read it to you. If he were here, you'd already be on the second chapter, so I intend to do what he cannot."

Bruce grew quiet for a time before venturing, "If my father enjoyed it, then I suppose it must be good. Does it have any politics in it? Business? Justice?"

"Oh, yes, loads. Intrigue, corruption, war, Kings, Princes, pirates, revenge - everything you could possibly ask for."

"Now I'm curious," Bruce carefully picked up the spoon resting in his soup, leaning over the bowl to make up for his shaking hand, "Well go on, then."

"I'm glad you've seen reason," Alfred quipped, dropping into the seat by Bruce's bed and clearing his throat, "Alright. Once upon a time there was a kingdom called Gotham. Its ruler, King Aubrey, was fair but incompetent, his understanding deteriorating further as his mind was lost to age. His daughter, the princess, was of a sharper mind, but possessed of a cruel disposition. Her thoughts strayed towards war with a nearby kingdom, Metropolis, and of all the resources (and entertainment) that she might gain. But first she must win the people to her cause.

Far away, on the outskirts of the city, an elderly couple, once highly esteemed but now relegated to the quiet country life of a family with dwindling wealth, were raising their son, Oswald. He was becoming a handsome young man, with his fine bones and dark, feathery hair and piercing green eyes. To add to his natural charm, he had what could only be described as an alluring personality. From his careful speech and mannerisms to his short tempered yet kind heart, Oswald Cobblepot left stunning and lasting impressions on everyone he met.

Our story begins on the day he met his family's new hired help: Ed, a farm boy...


	2. Hired Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are going to range in size. I know the next one will be really short, because there wasn't much to be said, but they'll probably get longer towards the end.

"Oswald," Gertrude called, "Oswald, be a dear and answer the door. Your father's feeling down again and the man he hired to help out should be arriving today."

"Yes, mother," Oswald replied, toeing the line between obedience and sarcasm. He knew that between his parents' age and his own damaged leg, they needed help or their farm would fail. Still, he didn't want to let a stranger into their home. Outside of his parents, and even sometimes with them, people had a tendency to treat him... different. Like he was fragile and needed their protection. He wondered if it was about the limp. Or maybe his height.

The man at the door knocked again, sharp and insistent. Putting on his best scowl, Oswald tugged the door inwards.

"Can I help you?" his question was curt. The man before him was young - tall and thin and sporting a blinding smile.

"I don't think so," he replied. Oswald narrowed his eyes, trying to determine if the man's voice was cheerful or cheeky.

"I'm supposed to help _you_ ," he continued, sticking his hand out, "I'm Edward. Nygma. I'm here to help with the farm and any chores that need to be done. I'm at your disposal."

Oswald shook his hand, eyeing him with suspicion, "Uh huh. I'm - "

"Oswald. I know."

"Oh? And how, exactly, do you know that?"

"Oh, I asked Elijah who all I'd be working for. He spoke very highly of you."

Oswald smiled disdainfully, titling his head for greater effect, "I'm sure. Why don't you go get yourself settled. You'll be staying in the far wing," he pointed towards a door at the end of the long corridor, "Down there."

"Of course," Edward nodded deferentially before spinning on his heel to retrieve a single satchel from the back of his horse."

Before long, Ed became a permanent fixture at the Van Dahl farm. Gertrude adored him for his manners and his reserved nature. Elijah rarely saw him, but when he did, he made sure to compliment his work. Most of the time, though, it was Oswald with whom he interacted. Oswald took great delight in horse-riding; the only thing he enjoyed more was tormenting Ed, who he referred to only as 'farm boy'.

"Farm boy!" he snapped, looking around. Ed materialized at his side, bowing his head once, "Yes, Oswald?"

"I need these pails filled with water," he dropped two large buckets in front of Ed, who gave a bright smile and picked them up.

"Anything for you," he replied. It was all he ever said in response to Oswald's constant demands.

"Polish my saddle."

"Anything for you."

"Chop these logs into firewood."

"Anything for you."

"Catch and prepare us a duck for supper."

"Anything for you."

This went on for years, until one day, everything changed.

"Farm boy! Get the stain out of my suit!" It was a perfectly normal command. And as usual, Ed smiled at him, accepting the bundle of clothes that had been shoved towards him, and replied, "Anything for you."

Only, this time, Oswald understood what he was actually saying.

_I love you._

His eyes widened even as his brow furrowed, jaw dropping ever so slightly. It didn't make any sense. How could anyone be in love with him, much less someone like Ed? Someone with so much energy and enthusiasm and _life_. It didn't make _any_ sense.

He turned away, hurrying back to the house as fast as his damaged leg could carry him, unable to resist the temptation to look back. Ed was still standing there, staring at him, eyes shining with the emotion that Oswald only now recognized for the love that it was.

He needed to think.

It was barely two weeks later when the other shoe dropped. He was standing in the kitchen, trying to recreate his mother's favorite dish as a surprise for her when Ed walked in, dropping off another pile of firewood. He was so beautiful, Oswald felt completely in awe of him. Always cheerful, always eager to help - so kind, so smart, so pretty...

And then it clicked.

Oswald Cobblepot was in love with Edward Nygma.

He gasped, wondering how it took him so long to figure out. His mind panicked when he saw Ed walking back out the door and he called out to stop him.

"Farm boy!"

Ed froze, looking over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow.

Quick, Oswald, he thought to himself, tell him you love him. How hard can it be?

"I... I..."

"What is it, Oswald?"

Oswald swallowed, glancing away to collect his thoughts when his gaze snagged on a pitcher hanging nearby, low enough for even himself to reach. He turned back to Ed, eyes glinting with the emotions he couldn't bring himself to say as he ordered, "Fetch me that pitcher."

Ed turned around fully, expression growing serious as he studied Oswald's face. He took three steps forward, closing the distance between them before his face broke out into the most stunning smile yet. Slowly and carefully, he reached up to retrieve the pottery.

Their fingers brushed as he handed it to Oswald, his voice lower than Oswald had ever heard it as he answered, "I would do anything for you."

From then on, their lives were bliss. Every moment that could be spared was spent in the other's company. The moments that could not were spent filled with thoughts of each other, marveling at how two souls could match so perfectly. But such pure happiness could only last for so long.

"Do you really have to go?" Oswald wanted to hold Ed down, prevent him from leaving, do _something_ , but he couldn't. He knew the answer before he asked the question.

"You cannot leave your parents, Oswald. And if we cannot elope, then I must. I have nothing to offer you, so I must earn my fortune, or the law will forbid us from marrying. It is the only way."

Oswald nodded. He knew. He reached forward to wrap his arms around Ed.

"I only wish you did not have to go so far, my love."

Ed sighed, resting his chin on the top of Oswald's head, "So do I, Oswald. So do I."

With tears in his eyes, Oswald drew back to study Ed's face as if it were the last time he'd get the chance, "How do I know I'll see you again?"

"Because this is fate. True love. You think this happens every day?" Ed shook his head, "We were meant to be together, Os. I will always come for you. You can _always_ count on me."

He leaned down and Oswald moved to meet him, trying to memorize the feel of the other man's lips against his -

~ ~ ~

"Hold it, hold it!" Bruce glared at Alfred, "Where's the politics? The justice? Are you trying to trick me? Alfred? Is this a kissing book?"

Alfred struggled to hold back a smile, "Just wait. A good story deserves a good set-up. We'll get to the politics soon."

"Uh huh."

"So, anyway, Ed set off across the seas, ready to make his fortune in order to legally ask for Oswald's hand. Little did either of them know, Edward's ship was being tracked by the fearsome and infamous pirate ship, Revenge... "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot of movie quotes that I'm going put in because I just can't resist. This movie was like half my childhood.


	3. Condemned to Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is pretty short but the next one will be longer. I just wanted to throw in some more from Ed's perspective also I really like writing about pirates.

He should have known that a journey this uneventful was headed for trouble. He hadn't even been mocked by the crew for his shy and awkward habits, something he had fully expected.

Now he was lying on the hard wood floor beneath his hammock, having been thrown from it violently by a jarring shock to the ship. Ed had never been to sea before, but he had a theory as to the origin of the shock. He groaned as he tried to sit up, feeling the bruises beginning to form on his back. Wonderful.

Around him, other passengers were doing the same. This being the lowest class of travel, private rooms were not an option. Ed reached for his glasses with one hand, the other patting his pocket to ensure his dagger was still there. If there was about to be a fight, he might be useless, but he wouldn't be unprepared.

Boots thundered on the steps as Ed leapt to his feet. Some of the other passengers were cowering at the back, others trying to force the portholes open to flee. The most intelligent were shoving the chests of their belongings in front of the single doorway, creating a barricade. Ed glanced around, searching for a trap to build.

"Did anyone bring any pottery? Glass? Smash it!" he called out, gesturing to the floor in front of the barricade, "Unless anyone has anything better, like spikes?"

People began fetching lanterns and bowls, dashing them against the wall and pushing the shards into the path of any attackers. One man even began prying the nails from his trunk, burying them point up in the cracks in the wood.

By now the sound of fighting could be heard from the stairwell, steel clashing against steel and bodies thudding against the ground. And then a crash as someone charged their makeshift wall.

It shuddered.

Another crash.

Another shudder.

Ed's grip tightened around his dagger as the final crash came, the wood splintering and flying out in every direction. People ducked, saving their necks for an additional thirty seconds before being sliced open by a cutlass. Pirates poured into the room like a hoard of scarabs, swords glinting with fresh blood as they searched for their next victims. Those at the front cursed as the sharp defenses pierced their booted feet, but the pain did not slow them for long.

Ed noticed the green question marks adorning the bandanas and other accoutrements. The Riddler. Of course.

And if there was one thing everyone knew about the Riddler, it was that he never took prisoners.

Ed gulped. If the crew hadn't been able to stop them, he didn't stand a chance. He was going to die. He was going to die and he was never going get to see his Oswald again. He focused on the weight of cold metal in his palm as he closed his eyes, seeing Oswald's green ones in his mind.

Around him the other passengers were begging, pleading for their lives. He opened his eyes only to lock gazes with one of the attackers. This man was covered in green from head to toe, a mask across the top half of his face. He strode towards Ed, never blinking.

Ed knew who he was.

Who didn't?

The Riddler stopped barely two paces from him, sword at the ready.

Ed held the dagger up.

"Please," he said, "Please. I need to live."

He wasn't pleading, not really. More like stating a fact.

The Riddler tilted his head, "Oh?"

"I know I cannot win in a fight. But I will try if I must. I need to live."

"Why?" The pirate sounded curious, although he hid it well beneath a layer of bored disinterest. Ed knew he must be honest and convincing if there was a chance for him to be spared. He gave himself over into the hands of Fate, trusting it to keep him safe for his beloved. Were they not _meant_ to be?

"True love. There is a man in Gotham, the most beautiful man alive, who is waiting for me. His hair darker than a raven's feathers, with eyes greener than glass, and he is waiting, ever so faithfully, for me to return so that we can be wed. I need to live so that I can keep my promise and return to him."

He dropped to his knees, dagger still clutched in his hand in case he needed to strike.

"Please." 


	4. Condemned to Live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now the story begins to pick up.

Life at the Van Dahl Estate had grown duller without Ed's eternally cheerful presence. Oswald felt as if each move he made were mechanical, as if he were merely a figure on a glockenspiel, repeating the same tasks day by day at precisely the same pace. His dreams, both day and night, were filled with thoughts of Ed. Memories, sometimes. Other times, wondering what Ed was up to presently. Was he thinking of Oswald? But most often he imagined the future - a future in which Ed returned, bearing tales of far off places and treasures with which to press his suit. He pictured the day Ed would appear, first a dot on the horizon, steadily approaching until he could at last be seen. He played out his own reactions: would he be tearful? overjoyed? would he throw himself into Ed's arms? or would he stand back, make _him_ do the waiting?

So many options, he thought.

And then came the day when a dot _did_ appear on the horizon. It seemed too soon, really, and Oswald should have known better than to get his hopes up. As the rider drew near, Oswald's heart sank. This man was a stranger, not Ed.

His horse slowed to a stop before the house, and the man dismounted with ease, landing lightly on his feet as he pulled a sack from around his shoulder.

Peering at him, the man asked, "Are you Elijah Van Dahl?"

Oswald shook his head, "I'm his son."

"Can you give this to him?" the man held out a letter, marked with an official looking seal.

"Of course," Oswald took the letter, trying without much success to hide his disappointment, "Thank you."

"Good day," the man added, jumping back atop his horse and departing with haste. Oswald wondered if he should join the messenger profession. He was at least as skilled a rider as that man. But then again, with his leg, it might prove too much after a few weeks.

He glanced down at the letter with a sigh. Maybe the castle was offering his father his job back? He had once been a tailor there, among other things, but his traditional style had gone out of fashion and he refused to partake in the horrendous trends of the current era.

"Father?" he called, entering his father's study. Elijah looked up from the suit he had been sketching, "Yes, my son?"

"This just came for you."

"Ah, of course," his father took the letter, opening it perfunctorily with his engraved letter opener, eyes scanning quickly over the page. The further down his gaze went, however, the more his expression dropped until he was left staring at it in concern, clearly distraught. He dropped the letter and turned the look on Oswald, who raised an eyebrow, feeling apprehensive.

"What it is, Father?"

"Oswald, why don't you sit down," it was not a question.

"Why?" he asked, following the order anyway. His father reached across his desk, taking both of Oswald's hands in his. Oswald glanced at them and then back up, swallowing nervously.

"What is it?" his stomach had dropped, as if he anticipated his father's next words.

"The _S.S. Grundy_ was found yesterday, near the banks of Metropolis. What was left of it, anyway. It had been set alight. Parts were still burning when they got to it. The only thing left intact was one sail, marked with a large, green question mark."

"The _S.S. Grundy_?" Oswald asked, blinking slowly as the news began to sink in, "But- But that's the ship Ed was on!"

Elijah nodded, "I'm sorry, Oswald. You know the stories of the Riddler."

"...He leaves no survivors."

"I'm so, so sorry, my son," Elijah stood up, walking around the desk to wrap Oswald in a hug that, any other day, would have been comforting. He ran a hand through Oswald's feathery hair as his son finally realized everything and began to sob, clinging onto his father in a vice-grip.

"NO! I - he - not - " Oswald continued to mutter out words, unsure of what sentence he was attempting to form. All he knew was that Ed _couldn't_ be dead. He _couldn't_.

After all, he _promised_.

But everyone knew the Riddler left no survivors.

Only a miracle could have saved Ed, and Oswald didn't believe in miracles.

So he just cried harder.

~ ~ ~

Oswald hadn't left his room for weeks. He barely ate - no more than half a bowl of soup per day. He rarely slept - only when his body could no longer force itself to stay awake. He did nothing but sit in his room, staring at the wall. He didn't even cry anymore. He had no tears left.

But eventually something changed. Something small, allowing him to lock Ed away in a tiny corner of his heart where he would be forever, dead or no. And Oswald began to function again. Still slowly, still mechanically, but he did.

Two years afterwards, he was leaving the house again, going down to the stables to see his favorite horse, taking rides around the countryside.

If only he hadn't recovered.

Because it was on one such ride that Oswald ran into a man even shorter than himself. A man with eleven fingers and tinted glasses.

A man who would change Oswald's life forever, and not for the better.

A man named Dr. Hugo Strange, loyal friend to the princess herself.

He took one look at Oswald, a long look, appraising, before he gestured to one of the many guards around him and Oswald felt himself being strong-armed into the carriage.

"Unhand me! You can't do this! I demand you release me at once!" Oswald had shouted and struggled, but it was to no avail. He was overpowered and outnumbered and he soon found himself wedged between two guards on a seat inside the admittedly luxurious carriage. Across from him sat the man smiling like a predatory cat.

"Hello," he said in a low, hypnotic voice, "My name is Dr. Strange. And you are?"

"I'm Oswald Cobblepot, son of Elijah Van Dahl, and I _insist_ you let me go."

"I'm afraid I cannot," Strange replied, an obviously false regretful expression on his face, "For you are precisely what the princess ordered. She needs a commoner, like yourself, to turn into a prince. One who with good looks, who the people can be made to love. After all, a king ought to be loved by his people, no?"

"I - I'm sorry, I don't follow."

"The princess must marry, and she has determined that she should marry a commoner to gain the people's support. I have been tasked with finding her the perfect commoner, and I have chosen you. You should be grateful. It is not every day a man becomes a prince."

Oswald stared at him, equal parts shock, horror, and disgust written across his face, "You can't! I'm not going to marry some, some _princess_! I already found my True Love. How could I marry anyone but him?"

"Oh we most certainly can," Strange chuckled, "For she is the princess, and her word is law. You may as well enjoy your new position, because there's nothing you can do about it."

And Oswald knew it to be the truth. He wasn't even allowed a proper good-bye with his parents. By the time they reached the palace, he'd shut his heart completely, locking it to keep Ed's memory in and everyone else out.

Strange was right. The people loved him. He became a hero, an idol among the commoners. Because if he could do it, then so could they, right?

But Strange and the princess were always there, always plotting when they thought his back was turned. They thought he was dumb, a pawn to be moved around for their little plans. But they seemed to be forgetting that the pawn who does the most, who survives the most, can become a queen - the most powerful player on the board.

So Oswald waited. He would go out riding, to clear his head. What would Ed have wanted him to do? Ed would have wanted him to stop their plans. Surely that's what he would have done. So Oswald needed to discover the plan. He knew it had something to do with a war with Metropolis, and he knew he was involved. But how to stop it?

He brought his horse to a halt as he saw three figures standing in the forest.

"Excuse me, Sir," one of them had called out. She was blond, with a bright smile and intelligent eyes.

"Yes?" he asked.

"We are but poor, lost, circus performers. Do you know, is there a village nearby?"

Oswald shook his head, "No, there is no one nearby."

The grin took on a sharp, sadistic edge, "Then there will be no one to hear you scream."

As the largest of the trio advanced, Oswald knew he was done for. The last thing that passed through his mind before it went black was Ed's face as it had looked the day he had left forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses as to who the princess is?
> 
> Edit note as of July 11, 2017:  
> I'm terribly sorry about the delay. My internet cut out for pretty much the whole day & then I found out that the next chapter, which was over 3000 words & which I was actually really pleased with, is gone, so yeah... I'm getting close to finishing a really long one-shot, but it's probably going to be a little bit before I update this story again. I'm too frustrated to try and rewrite the next chapter right now, and since it's with the pirates, I have pretty much 0 template to work with. Hopefully I'll get back to it soon, though. I really have been enjoying this


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